


Divide the Desolation Between Us

by ac_MaryAgnes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Carl Grimes is a perfect cinnamon roll, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Gen, Rick Grimes needs a vacation, S9Ep5, What comes after, too good for this world, too pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ac_MaryAgnes/pseuds/ac_MaryAgnes
Summary: Rick closes his eyes listening to the helicopter roar as it landed.When he opens them again, the world begins.





	Divide the Desolation Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> "Together, they are afraid of nothing. They would brave Satan and all his legions. And the price? Three graves by a low wall where the churchyard meets the open moor. A generation lost and gone: Edgar, Cathy, Heathcliff. May they sleep sound in that quiet earth.  
> But country folk will swear on their Bibles that he still walks."  
> (Nelly: Wuthering Heights (1992))
> 
> Not particularly beholden to the idea Rick lived long enough to fly into the sunset. So I 'fixed' it.

Rick opened his eyes, blinking fast against the harsh light. He felt like his head was encased in cotton, muzzy and muffled against the world. Squinting, his eyes adjusted slowly. After a moment, he realised the light really wasn’t that bad – grey curtains hung from a window, parted enough to allow the dim light from outside stream through. It was cloudy, and what little he could see of the sky suggested rain.

His mouth was dry and his eyes felt gritty. His nose and sinuses buzzed like he’d been crying hard for a long time. But the bed he was lying on was soft, and the pillow under his head was cool. An experimental move realised weak and stiff joints under a weighted blanket – a quilt, he saw with a frowning glance, and a simple robe tossed across the foot of the bed. He slowly, almost painfully, climbed into a seated position and took in more of the room.

It was simple and clean. The walls were a muted grey, the trim white. Rough pine floors, unadorned of rugs, kept the room from feeling too small and added an airy feeling. A wooden chair – also pine – sat near the closed door. A small table was to one side of the bed, displaying a blue and white vase with white and purple flowers in it. Next to the vase was a pitcher of water and drinking glass.

Rick reached out one shaking hand, and then two when he realised he barely had the strength the life an empty glass singlehandedly. The water as he sipped was cool and fresh, and he had to stop himself from gulping the whole glass down. His head spun momentarily, and he had to close his eyes against it. After a few deep, calming breaths, swallowing down the spins, he reopened his eyes and started the slow task of getting out of bed. Swinging his legs to the side was the first order of business.

His hips protested, and his back didn’t seem to want to bear his weight. His arms shook as he braced himself against the edge of the mattress and after a moment he saw a pair of slippers tucked neatly under the bed. An unsteady foot slid them over, and as he slipped into their terrycloth depths, he paused.

His feet were clean. His ankles were unadorned by years of dead skin and sweat and grime. His nails were trimmed, no traces of gun oil or mud in the crevices of his knuckles or nail beds. He brought one shaking hand up to his hair, and while the curls were rough and dry, they weren’t covered in dirt or dried blood. He was beardless, though a day’s worth of stubble scrubbed against his palm. When he lifted his shirt to inspect his abdomen, all he saw was the tail end of the scar he’d gotten so many years before, from a third man he hadn't seen.

He breathed in deep through his nose and reached for another glass of water. Again he sipped carefully and slowly, and he tried to determine if he should be afraid. Setting the glass back down on the table, he tried to listen for anything beyond the door – any movement or voices – but there was nothing. Sighing, he grabbed the robe and coaxed his arms through the holes. The terry cloth lining was soft against his skin. Everything was in this dream-like world he’d woken up in: soft and quiet.

Rick took a bracing breath and stood. Then sat down hard back on the bed. The room spun and his knees shook. Taking another moment to let the dizziness pass, Rick steadied himself again. His next attempt was slower, shifting his weight onto one foot and then moving off the bed and shifting onto the other foot. He paused halfway through, hands braced against the mattress, legs shaking like a young colt’s under him. He could feel the blood leave his head and all that water he’d drank threatened to make a reappearance, but he closed his eyes and breathed through it. Slowly, his equilibrium returned and he felt he could stand upright.

One lurching shuffle-step brought him halfway towards the door, and another had him falling with a solid thump against the wall. He gripped the door jam and knob, knuckles white and palms beginning to sweat. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, and for a moment he thought he was going to faint. But the moment eventually passed, and in another moment he felt steady enough to open the door. The same pine floors continued out into the short hallway, walls a soft green now. It was wide enough for two people to pass through comfortably, or one person with long arms held out on either side. Rick used one wall to hold himself up as he slowly staggered along, shoulder dragging against the smooth surface. There were no paintings or mirrors to run into, and another little table sat at the very end with a small vase of wild flowers. A staircase at the end of the hall lead to the lower floor, and as Rick’s vision pitched again he decided that sitting would be the right way to get down them.

Halfway down, one side of the wall turned into a simple, rough-hewn banister with a large, blocky post at the bottom. The stairs opened up to a house of the same simple design as the room he’d woken up in and the hallway he’d hobbled down. He could hear voices now, one low and male, another higher and female. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the conversation was snappy and quick; perhaps verging on an argument. When he stood again, he had to hold onto the post as the room swung and his limbs pulsed in time with his thumping heart. He wished he’d stayed in bed or had more water, but it was too late to turn back now. He tried to make it to the wall that would lead him towards the voices, but instead he fell back, head thumping painfully against the wall next to the stairs. The voices stopped and Rick heard movement coming towards him, but his eyes slid shut before he could see who it was.

He heard footsteps, a limping stride in heavy boots, lumber down the hall then stop.

“Oh shit,” a voice grumbled. “Lor! Hey buddy,” hands caught Rick’s elbows and he realised he’d been sliding down the wall he had propped himself up against. He felt body heat in front of him, felt the humid puff of breath against his chin. “Hey man, what’re you doing outta bed? Lori!”

Rick’s eyes refused to open no matter how hard he struggled. The lids were so heavy, and he was suddenly so goddamn tired. Maybe he was still dreaming?

A quicker, lighter step jogged towards them. “Wha- oh my god! Rick? What are you doing, dragging yourself all the way down here like this? You can’t be doing that.”

He just shook his head, neck limp as the room spun. Oh, he wanted to open his eyes, look at their faces and know it was them. But all he could do was mumble past dry lips: “Nonono. Nono.”

“Get him back upstairs,” the woman ordered, and strong arms swung Rick up like a baby. “I’ll be up in a minute with soup or something. You sit with him and do _not_ let him get back out of bed.”

“I know, I know,” the man groused, “I heard the doctor same as you.”

Rick felt light headed again and short of breath, the blood draining from his face. His head fell limp onto the man’s shoulder and before he passed out, he struggled to open his eyes. Worried brown eyes under a heavy brow, set on either side of a nose that look like it had taken a few too many hits, met his.

“Got your robe and slippers on and everything,” the man rumbled, voice vibrating against Rick’s ear. “Like a proper old man, huh?”

“’M I dead now, Shane?” Rick’s mouth slurred, and he let the darkness claim him again.

* * *

The next time Rick opened his eyes, he was in the bedroom from before. It was night and the room itself was dark, though the door was opened and yellow light filtered in through the gap. Weak as a kitten, he knew better than to try getting out of bed again. He turned onto his side under the covers, towards the door, and focused on whatever might be in the hallway. He heard movement shifting in the room, and a form separated from the shadows.

“Hey man,” a gruff rumble soothed through the dark. The form – a man – kneed his way across the floor to Rick’s side. “Hey. You awake again?”

Rick gave a slow blink. He couldn’t see the features of the man in front of him – just the shape of a head with dark, close-cropped hair, a bit of scalp shining in the hall light. Rick swallowed, his throat tight. “I… Am I dead?”

The man huffed out a small laugh and ducked his head. “Naw, you ain’t dead, Rick.” A hand reached out and smoothed Rick’s hair back. “You want food? Lori’s got soup waitin’ for you if you think you can handle it.”

“Wh… where are we? What’s going on?”

The man shook head and passed his hand over Rick’s hair again. “Food first, man. You been through a lot and you need to get your strength up.”

“Carl?” Rick managed, feeling breathless all of a sudden. “And Judith? Are they…?”

“The kids are just fine, Rick,” that deep voice reassured him. “You just rest a bit more and I’ll get you some of that soup, okay? I’ll even fluff your pillows, huh?”

Before Rick could formulate a response, the man was up off the ground with a grunt and out the door. Rick watched him go, scared out of his mind. The body that passed through to the hallway was familiar, almost as familiar as his own. Muscled shoulders bracketed a wide, solid chest and swinging gait, even with the limp. Shaved hair bristled, a shadow against the man’s scalp, echoed in the stubble against his jaw. He grew up with that man. Laughed with him, cried with him, fought with him.

Killed him.

Watched him come back from the dead. Watched his son put a bullet through his skull.

Rick couldn’t possibly be alive. He had to be dead, or else this was some horrible dream.

However many minutes later, the man returned, backing into the room, his hands full with a tray of soup. A slim woman followed behind him baring a hurricane lantern. The woman had long, dark hair that curled like smoke around her head. Her skin was porcelain and rose, eyes a hazel green. Her hands would be soft and gentle if they touched his. And she had died giving birth to a daughter who wasn’t his.

“Hey!” she whispered, setting the lantern down next to the flowers on the bedside table. She leaned over Rick, hair fragrant with a honeyed perfume as she helped him sit up, adjusting the pillows at his back. “You fell asleep before you could eat last time. Think you might be able to manage it now?”

Rick, stunned and feeling more broken than he ever had in his life, brought a shaking hand up to her cheek. It was like silk under his fingertips. He felt his throat close as his eyes began to well with tears. His heart broke and broke and broke, and as a sob tore from his chest he pitched forward into her arms.

“Oh my god,” he cried, weak arms trying to pull her closer. She stiffened briefly, but pulled him to her as he wailed. Vaguely, he registered her rocking them back and forth, her lips brushing his hair, her voice cooing and trying to calm him. Her hands stroked his back and held him tight. Rick felt the other edge of the bed dip down, another warm body gather him close, another set of hands hold him. Gunpowder and forest loam mixed with crushed flowers and sunshine. Loss, pain, and wretched disbelief swept through him, stealing his breath and senses.

When he could get a hold of himself again, a hollowed out shell, his chest and throat hurt. He must have cried out, wailed as he wept, but they only held him as he quieted. Shane brought up the bottom edge of his shirt and wiped Rick’s face as if he were a child, clearing away tears and snot with kindness and love in his face.

“ _Please_ ,” Rick wheezed, hands clutching at their sides. “Tell me where we are. How… I watched you die? How are we here?”

Lori smoothed the side of his face and kissed his forehead. “Eat your soup, love,” she murmured into his skin and then pulled back to look into his eyes. “We’ll explain what we can, alright?”

Shane settled the tray across Rick’s lap, and the smell of the broth made his stomach rumble. “Eat up but don’t push yourself, alright, bud?”

Shane backed up to the foot of the bed as Lori pulled the chair close.

“Shane tells me you keep asking if you’re dead,” she started, fingers folding and unfolding in her lap. “You’re not, Rick. After… after you and Glenn got Hershel to come back, the farm was attacked by another group of survivors. You got shot-“

“ _Again_ ,” Shane grumbled, heavy hand landing on Rick’s blanket-covered foot.

Lori glared at him for a moment before continuing. “You were shot again, just after Carl started to feel better. And you hit your head,” her chin started to wobble. “So hard. I swear we thought you were dead for sure, Rick.”

“Ya gotta stop almost fuckin’ dying, man,” Shane swore at him. “I mean, shit. Only so much a person can take, you know?”

Rick didn’t know what to say to that, so he fed himself more soup. It was just broth – no noodles or rice or vegetables or nothing – but it tasted like heaven.

“I guess you could say we ‘won’,” Lori said, using air-quotes. “Two of their party joined ours, but we lost the farm and… Patricia, Andrea and Dale were killed in the initial attack. Daryl got Carol, Beth and Maggie to the RV, and Glenn and Hershel helped Shane move you to the hatchback. T-Dog got Carl and I to one of the other cars before he…”

“Some asshat got him in the back,” Shane finished, reaching over and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Our girl gunned outta there so fast, we almost didn’t catch her.”

“Our girl?” Shane and Lori shared a look. Rick put the spoon back into the bowl and dropped his hands to the bedspread. “Oh.”

“Rick-“

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he mumbled to himself. “You two –“

“Let me finish before you go casting any judgement, Rick Grimes.” She took a bracing breath before continuing. “We travelled for about two days before we found the compound where we are now. The woman who runs it is Honey Goode; as soon as you’re well enough she’ll want to meet you properly.”

“She’s a good woman,” Shane told him, admiration clear in his voice. “Strong, smart, and tough as fuckin’ nails. She don’t put up with any kind of foolishness, but she’s fair.”

“She was leery about Daryl for a while until Beth and Shane spoke up for him. But there’s a little clinic here, and a schoolhouse. They have a few cows for milk and some goats, and a vegetable garden. We don’t have the kind of land needed for growing wheat or anything, but it’s a sizable compound.”

“There’s some good people here, Rick. You’ll like a lot of ‘em.”

“This is our house,” Lori told him. “Carl and I live here with Shane and the baby. You too, if you’d like. We’d like you to.”

Rick folded his lips into his mouth, heart trembling in his chest. “How long have I…”

“Three hundred eighty four days,” Shane told him, voice solemn. Lori’s fingers shook as she laid them over her lips. “We’ve counted every one of ‘em, man. And we done everything we could to keep you as healthy as could be.”

“Carl comes up and talks to you almost every day. He thinks we don’t know about it. He talks to you about his day, how he feels about this or that.”

“He’s gonna be _so_ happy you’re awake, Rick.” Shane smiled and leaned forward. He grabbed Rick’s hand. “He’s told the baby all about you, and any body who’ll listen how great his daddy is, defeatin’ death like some-some kinda legendary hero.”

Rick’s forehead crumpled, skin folding in ripples. “And how long have… have you two…”

Shane and Lori looked at each other again, trepidation warring with fondness.

“We fought it until right before the baby was born,” Lori confessed.

“God _damn_ did we fight,” Shane grumbled, shaking his head.

“ _One of us_ had a marriage and another child to consider,” she stressed, glaring at the man at the end of the bed.

“And sneaking around again wasn’t an option the _other_ one was willing to settle for,” Shane glared back.

“I didn’t want to _sneak around_!” Lori hollered at him. “I wanted to go on dates! Dates are not sneaking around.”

“They sure as hell are when you won’t _tell_ anyone about them!”

“Who were we gonna tell?! _Daryl_?”

“Right, because I’m not allowed to talk to people I work with about my life.”

“I never said that, Shane Walsh. Don’t you go putting words in my mouth. And besides that, we couldn’t agree on how or when to tell Carl.”

“What about Carl?” a young voice came from the hall. The door swung open and the lantern light showed a fair-skinned boy with floppy dark brown hair juggling a small baby in his arms, using his foot to move the door. Pale blue eyes widened as they looked at Rick. “Dad!”

Lori scooped the baby up as Carl launched himself at the bed, Shane moving the soup tray out of the way just in time. Rick’s arms caught the boy, who held him with surprising strength.

“ _Carl_ ,” he wheezed. “Oh my son. My son, my son, my son.”

The boy who he held in his arms as he died in a cave, who got his eye shot out by a man trying to kill Rick, who had endured far more than a child ever should but still held so much hope and generosity in his heart. If Rick was dreaming, he never wanted to wake up. He wanted to stay forever in this uncanny dream world, even if Lori and Shane were together, even if the dead walked the earth, even if they still had to struggle to survive. Because his boy – his beautiful boy – was alive in his arms and thriving.

Carl pulled back with a smile so wide his face was bound to split in two. “Dad, you’re awake! I knew you were gonna wake up soon.”

Rick ran quaking hands over the boy’s soft brown hair, his eyes threatening to overflow for a second time that night. “Oh Carl, I’m so happy to see you.”

Carl looked over at Lori for a moment before turning back with a frown. Leaning forward he whispered, “Mom’s gonna make me leave and let you rest, but I’ll be back once she and Shane go to bed.” A dry kiss was pressed into Rick’s cheek. “I love you, dad. I’m glad you’re awake.”

Rick squeezed the boy as tight as he could to his chest. As predicted, Lori cleared her throat and Carl pulled away.

“You’ve got school in the morning, Carl, and your daddy needs to rest now. You can talk to him tomorrow, alright?”

Carl nodded but grinned at Rick. “Alright, alright.”

Shane and Lori were hugged good night, but before Carl dashed out of the room he turned and looked at Rick. “I love you, dad.”

Rick’s throat was tight as he nodded. “I love you, too, Carl.”

Silence descended on the room for a moment before the baby in Lori’s arm’s squawked for attention and started fussing. Lori juggled her for a moment before Shane got up and reached for her.

“Come on, Lor,” he rumbled. “You know she likes me best this time a’night.”

With an eye roll, Lori handed the baby over. The sight of Shane Walsh juggling a baby, smiling and cooing, was… bizarre. Well and truly bizarre.

“Rick,” he said, bringing the baby over, smiling proudly as he presented her to his friend, “this is Judith. She’s the princess of the house.”

Shane’s eyes stared at Rick out of a cherubic version of Lori’s face, and she gave him a gummy smile before throwing her head into her daddy’s shoulder.

“Aw, come on, Jude,” Shane coaxed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be shy. We like Rick a whole lot.”

Setting the baby on his lap, Shane turned her to face his friend. A small fist found her mouth, her eyes wandering around the room.

“She’s fourteen weeks old,” Lori told him. “Already rolling over; she can recognize her family; she likes music.”

Shane looked up at him. “Wanna hold her?”

Rick’s mouth was dry, but as his friend held the baby out to him, he couldn’t help but take her. This was Lori’s baby, Shane’s baby. Carl’s sister. She was heavier than he expected, but he wasn’t at full strength so maybe she was normal. She certainly was heavier than he remembered her being at this age. And he remembered every age. He remembered her first word, teaching her how to tie her shoes, hearing her giggle when Carl tickled her. He remembered this girl, his sweet little Judith, having to stop and smell every flower they found as they walked around a forest path. Judith, the last bit of Lori and Carl and Shane he had. Until now, maybe. Rick didn’t know what to say.

“Carl named her,” Lori told him, seemingly trying to fill up the silence. “His teacher’s name was Judith, remember? It’s a nice name, and she was a very sweet woman.”

And suddenly since waking up, since opening his eyes in this strange room from a dream (was it a dream? It hadn’t felt like a dream), Rick desperately wanted to go back to sleep. This was so much, too much.

“I… I think I need some rest,” he mumbled. He couldn’t lift the child off his lap, but a fraught look to Shane relieved him of the burden. As he stood up, Lori bent close and tucked Rick back into bed. She kissed his forehead gently, reverently, as a mother would. Smoothing his hair back, she smiled at him.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Rick. Things are really great here and you’re going to be happy, I just know it.”

As Shane held the baby and the lantern, Lori collected the tray with now-cold soup.

“I’ll keep the door open and the hall light on, bud,” Shane reassured him. “When you wake up, you’ll still be here. I promise.”

* * *

Rick’s dreams were muddled and he couldn’t remember them when he opened his eyes again. He had surfaced briefly to a small scuffle in his room, a body being jostled next to him and a hissing voice scolding him for sneaking into his father’s room, but drifted back under sleep’s spell for a while longer. When he did finally wake, seeing the same room he fell asleep in was a comfort, but still left questions. Had he really dreamed the last three years of his life? Had he imagined Michonne, Negan, and all the rest? How had he known Judith’s name? Did Carl tell him while he was in a coma and his subconscious utilize that information?

Sitting up, he felt somewhat stronger than he had yesterday. Standing was still slow-going – weak, unused muscles disliked their sudden reintroduction to weight and gravity – but he didn’t experience nearly the same lightheaded feeling as he had before. Rick shuffled himself down the hall and paused at the top of the stairs. Going down on his butt still seemed like the wiser decision, even if it was childish and silly, so that was the way he went. At the bottom, he heard sounds from further in the house and was able to amble down the hall towards them. Pushing open the door at the end, Rick found himself in a small but cozy kitchen.

Lori, standing by a gas stove, turned as he entered. Hazel eyes flying open, she dropped the wooden spoon she held to the counter and rushed over to grab his arm.

“Rick!” she cried, and started guiding him over to a chair at the rustic table at the far end of the room. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised you can’t stay in bed. You always were the worst patient, even with a head cold. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat. This is Honey Goode, by the way. I told you about her last night, remember?”

Sitting in the chair opposite him was a delicate-looking woman with skin that looked soft and warm. Her face was all angles – wide nose forming a pert little arrow to a pointed chin, cheekbones and eyebrows echoing slashes. Dark freckles danced across her face, and would have made her look open and welcoming. But her almond-shaped eyes were dark and guarded. Her lips, thick and a natural mauve colour, were pursed as she inspected him.

Judith banged her hands on the table from her highchair, unknowingly cutting through the tension between Rick and Honey.

“Lori and Shane are curiously protective of you, Mr Grimes,” Honey stated. Her voice was breathy, holding a natural smoky tenor. And she was all business. “According to Dr Greene and a few of your associates from the farm, you three had a pretty serious falling out. But everyone who knows you all but sings your praises.”

Rick’s eyes cut to his wife (ex-wife?), but Lori didn’t look at him. He cleared his throat and reached out a shaking hand to the glass of water she’d placed in front of him next to a small bowl of oatmeal. After taking a sip, he licked his lips.

“Shane and I were deputies in King County back before all this started. We’d known each other for years, practically since we were younger than Judith. Lori and I had been together since high school.”

“Had been,” Honey prompted. Rick nodded, eyes falling to the table in front of him.

“Yeah. Not too long before all this started, I’d gotten shot. I guess I was in a coma. Shane got Lori and Carl out of town, kept them safe. I woke up in the hospital, fought my way to find them again. They’d both thought I was dead. I guess… I don’t know if I can blame them for that.” He’d long ago forgiven them, even if it had only been a dream. “But back at the farm, yeah. Tensions were high. Things weren’t good with the three of us. Real bad, in fact. Shane and I were having some trouble seeing eye-to-eye on certain things, and I wasn’t handling discovering about him and Lori all that well. I don’t know what’s happened since we left the farm, don’t even remember the attack but… they didn’t leave me for dead, when it sounds like maybe they could have.”

Honey nodded. “Sounds to me like you’ve got a bad habit of catching comas, Mr Grimes.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, seems like. I, uh, I guess I just don’t know where I fit. I can’t seem to catch my breath.”

“You just woke up yesterday,” Lori murmured, pulling a chair around to feed Judith. “Eat your oatmeal, Rick.”

Obediently, he picked up his spoon but didn’t taste the bite he put into his mouth. It wasn’t that the food was tasteless; he was just overwhelmed.

Honey took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “You’re gonna need time to recover,” she decided. “I appreciate that. But if you want to fit in, we’ve got some rules here. As soon as you’re well enough, you’ll be expected to follow them, same as anyone else here.” She paused as if waiting for him to answer – to agree – but he said nothing so she continued. “Fights happen – they’re human and we all accept that. But before anything becomes physical, you come to me. If I can’t solve it, we put it up to committee. Whatever their decision is, you take it and live with it. Killing someone is an automatic out. We got no room for killers here. Now we know accidents happen, so every death is investigated to the best of our abilities. But we make sure that every death is final. And finally, everyone here pulls his or her weight. Even the kids help out, as much as they’re able. Lori was a teacher at the schoolhouse until Judith came along, and she moonlights as a barber when people need it. Shane makes and fixes furniture and he’s handy at keeping the peace when I’m trying to settle disputes. He tells me you’re even better at keeping a level head than he is.”

Rick blew out a heavy breath and thought of the piece of shit he’d ripped the throat out of, thought of the asshole in the church with the red machete, thought of his best friend daring him to shoot on a moonlit night away from Hershel Greene’s farm.

Level-headed… right. Rick swallowed to keep his scoffing laugh to himself. “Honestly, I can’t seem to think beyond tomorrow. Hell, even an hour from now. It feels like… like I lost so much more time than I really have. Everything is different, you know?”

Honey slowly nodded her head. “Yeah, I think I know that feeling. Well,” she settled her small, square palms and slim, tapered fingers on the table and stood, “I guess I’ll leave you to your breakfast. Lori, you’ve been a pleasant hostess as always. I’ll make sure Dr Greene knows to come out here today to look him over.” A negligent kiss was dropped on the baby’s head, and the woman was gone.

Rick chewed on his lips for a moment. He felt so many things all of a sudden, a confusing tidal wave of loss and joy and grief swept over him. He covered his face, but once the tears started he couldn’t seem to stop them. Lori settled the baby back in her highchair and came around to Rick’s side.

“Oh Rick, honey.” One hand steadied herself against his back, the other rested gently on his knee as she crouched down next to him. “Talk to me. Rick… I’m right here.”

He shook his head. “This place is… it’s everything I’d always wanted for us. But I don’t know what’s _real_ ,” he admitted, his voice a wretched whisper. “I… I don’t know what’s real, Lori. I had to kill Shane, and Carl shot him in the head, and you died having the baby. Carl lost an eye and he got bit, but you’re all _here_. And I got stabbed with rebar and I don’t know _what’s real!_ ”

Stunned to silence, Lori just watched him, her hand rubbing his back. The silence seemed to grow even as Rick continued to cry, and suddenly he was spilling the whole story.

Every death – the endless litany of it – and every questionable action spilled from his lips. Every time he loved Michonne, every time Carl had to learn to become just a little bit harder. The time they lost Judith, and found her again, and how Michonne had to raise her now. He talked about the prison, the Governor, roving bands of murderous rapists, Alexandria, and Negan. He told her about fighting and fighting and fighting, every day, just to keep breathing. He talked about being happy – in some far away place of himself – that he was dying. Fever dreams, or death dreams, or whatever they had been all telling him to wake up and find his family. Everything came pouring out.

When he was dried out, his throat raw, he sat slumped to one side. He felt lighter now than when he’d woken up. Lori had dragged a chair over so she could sit, and now she gathered him close to her. It was dimmer in the tidy little kitchen than it had been when he’d arrived, and he wondered vaguely how much time had passed. Behind him, he heard boots limp across the wooden floor, and figured it was a good thing Shane had heard at least a little of Rick’s story. The man lowered himself down to Rick’s other side and carefully made eye contact.

“It sounds like you’ve been through some crazy shit, man. And whether it was real or not, you went through it so it was definitely real to you. It’s gonna be rough going sometimes, but you’re here now and one day, you’ll look up and realise that shit? It’s all behind you. You got a real life to live here now. And Lori and me? Well us and the kids are gonna help you live it. You lived three years more than any of us, and don’t even got the wrinkles to show for it. That’s not so bad, huh?” Shane’s smile ticked up one side of his mouth and Rick was so happy to see it, his own mouth ticked up in response. “Yeah, that’s my man. Now I know you got down here all by yourself, but you must be pretty tired huh? Let me help you get back in bed. Carl’s due home from school soon, he’s gonna want to tell you all about his day before he starts his chores. You know how much our boy’s a talker, Rick, I don’t gotta tell ya.”

A strong shoulder bore his weight up out of the chair, and Shane took small steps so Rick could pretend to walk himself back to his bedroom. As Shane tucked him back into bed, Rick gave him a considering look.

“You keep saying ‘our’.” Rick’s voice was raspy with over use, but he was glad Lori couldn’t hear his question. “You called Lori ’our girl’, an’ Carl was ‘our boy’.”

Shane paused, dark eyes flashing old insecurities in a still face. “That’s ‘cause they _are_ ours, Rick. Yours and mine. In different ways, sure, but we share ‘em.” He seemed to steady himself before continuing. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

Rick blinked and thought back on three years that may or may not have happened. “You’re _such_ an asshole, Shane. But you taught me how to be an asshole, a monster, when I needed to be one. When I was dying, I dreamed of you, of asking for you to forgive me. I didn’t dream of Lori or Carl… just you. I… I don’t know if that means something. But family isn’t property. There’s nothing to share, because there’s nothing to own. I raised your daughter, protected her with everything I am. I tried to reshape the whole world just so it was safe for her to live in it. And if it wasn’t real, well if you weren’t here I’d do it now too, without question.”

Shane nodded, liquid brown eyes warming as his smile returned. “Yeah, we’ll be just fine.” A hand clapped against Rick’s shoulder and he stood. “Now you get some rest before Carl gets home. That boy really does chatter like a magpie once he gets goin’.”

As Shane was walking out of the room, Rick slumped against the pillows behind him. Suddenly he was dog-tired, as if getting horizontal was an automatic ‘off’ button. There was no stopping the tide of sleep, pulling him deeper and deeper under its spell.

“Our baby’s gonna be an ass-kicker,” he murmured, his mouth already limp and slurring his words. He wasn't sure if his friend heard him, and didn't even know if it mattered all that much. “A katana wieldin’, gun-totin’ lil’ ass-kicker.”

* * *

Later that night, as they lie naked in bed together, Lori drew patterns over Shane’s shoulder while she thought. He noticed her preoccupation and casually palmed her breast, nuzzling under her chin to try to bring her back to the present.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, little bird?”

Not allowing herself to get side-tracked was a trial, but Lori pulled through. “Rick. The things he thinks he lived through-“

Shane stopped her, shaking his head. “He did live through them, Lor. You saw the look on his face, heard it in his voice. Yeah to us, we know it was just his brain occupying him while he was in a coma for over a year. But to him, it was all real.”

“So what? We just let him think all those horrible things happened?”

Shane stroked his fingers down her ribs and turned to cover her body with his. Rick had dreamed Shane doing some terrible things, hard-hearted and monstrous things. And if it really came down to it, yeah – Shane could see himself doing the things Rick said he’d done, and gladly. He already had to in order to save Carl, with Otis. If thinking up that shit made it easier for Rick to take charge and make the hard choices, so be it. Shane would gladly take all the credit for making his brother a stronger man.

“Think of it this way. The soldier remembers the war, and we should be glad we didn’t have to be there to see it happen. Rick is a good friend and a good father, and above all that he’s a good man.”

Lori’s lips folded between her teeth for a moment. Finally she nodded. “We’ll just keep being there for him as he needs it,” she declared as if it were all her idea to begin with.

Shane smiled at her and nudged her thighs apart a little more. “ _That’s_ my woman,” he growled before catching her mouth with his.

**Author's Note:**

> Eh? Eeeeehh? So I wrote this all in one day - ten and a quarter pages in 24hrs. I was pulling staff duty and was SO incredibly board. I'm very proud that I wrote this much and I don't think it sucks that much at all.


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